Into This Wild Abyss
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Summary: These are missing scenes from the episodes, 'Paradise Lost' and 'Payback'. *Chapter Three has a warning of dark thoughts.* And now ... Chapter Five: For Swanny, today was a good day. For Clay it could have been worse.
1. Chapter 1

Into This Wild Abyss

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: All hell breaks loose; and then the unthinkable happens. This is a missing scene from the episode 'Paradise Lost'.

* * *

"What hath night to do with sleep?" – John Milton

* * *

Sinto's arms were wrapped around his neck so tight that the force of it made him cough. He was a little one and so small, that he could not sense his weight; but pressed so close that he could feel his heart pounding and wet tears coat his cheek.

Over the chaos and madness of fear on the street, he could hear the frightened whisper in his ear, "Where is my brother? Where is my brother?"

Holding him tighter, Clay reassured, "He's here, right here…see?" And the other boy, pupils blown wide, still clinging to the teddy bear – rushed to his side and grabbed hold of his shirt.

Feeling the child grab hold, Clay made his way with both boys through the frantic streets. Shock registered on every face he encountered, and he felt it also. Scanning the area he knew that he needed to get these children quickly to a safe place …back to the bar.

Jostling his way through the crowd, people rushed by stumbling into one another with ash and blood streaking their hands, face and clothes. Streaming tears, wails of pain, open wounds… limping – the wounded holding up the wounded, determined to get off this street.

It was pandemonium.

Clay anxiously watched them stagger away, his sense of duty pulling him in several different directions. He wanted to help them all; but knew he could not. At least these people were on their feet. Others had not been so lucky.

Reaching down he pulled Kuya closer to his body and brushed his hand over the boy's eyes. Without further direction he squeezed them tightly closed as they passed over a woman lying on the ground; her eyes sightless – limbs contorted horribly.

Placing his hand at the back of Sinto's head, he pressed the boy's face into his neck and murmured, "Close your eyes. Don't look. Do you promise?" and felt the child nod in response.

Clay picked his way through the minefield of death, rubbing Sinto's back with soothing circles as Kuya blindly followed alongside – his life line the tail of his shirt. "Don't let go." he instructed and surged forward.

To his left, through the haze of smoke and ash, Clay could hear moaning and soft prayers. He knew there were others out here hidden from view, who were hurt badly and could not stand on their feet and make their way to safety…caught here; made to suffer among the fallen.

Voices above the exodus called out to missing family and friends…names floating surreally through the dust, swallowed up by panic.

Moving on they passed by a man dazed and confused – his face covered with blood and etched in bewilderment…walking in circles – unable to go one way or the other. "Can you follow us?" Clay yelled out, but the man only continued his spherical journey, his mind lost amid the horror surrounding them.

Kuya began to cry at his side as Sinto trembled uncontrollably in his arms. These children were going into shock. Time was of the essence. He needed to get them to the bar. Trent would be able to help them; he would know what to do.

So he reluctantly left the man in his circular pattern, unresponsive in the street. "I'll come back" he called over his shoulder. "I'll be back for you. Please wait here."

As he moved away, suddenly a sense of uncertainty washed over him. The street seemed familiar and then not. Destroyed cars, the smoke, flames, concrete upended…debris swirling beneath his feet; street lights flickering on and off gave him a sense of déjà vu.

Where was he exactly? Which way was Bravo? Was the University north or south of here?

Clay knew that the streets in Mumbai could be tricky. Adam had made it clear to stick together…not to wander off alone and be some kind of hero. Turning in a circle he searched through the destruction, Sinto clinging to his neck; legs squeezing his chest.

He couldn't stop here, they needed to keep moving.

Swiping smoke induced tears from his eyes Clay considered what to do; and decided to keep moving forward – Kuya tripping over his feet behind him. Around the corner, twisted; a husk of himself Adam lay dead and he choked on his grief. Halting in his tracks Kuya ran up his ankles and buried his face into his back.

Blinking, he moved closer. This was not possible. He should have stayed behind. He should have stayed and watched over him. Steeling himself, he hefted Sinto up to hold him closer. He looked again, and this time instead of Adam he saw a disfigured man, unlucky in fate, who had been caught in the bomb blast – his body torn to bits…his face frozen in disbelief.

Closing his eyes Clay berated himself for becoming lost in the past. This was not Mumbai.

Through the smoke, noise of running retreat, sirens in the distance Clay heard his name. To his relief, the smoke parted and there in front of him stood the bar…Sonny moving toward him.

His sense of bearing restored Clay latched onto Sonny's voice and moved in to meet him. "Where have you been?" Sonny yelled as they met at the bombed out entrance – his voice a mixture of anger and worry.

Clay attempted to loose Sinto's vice like grip from around his neck and turn him over to Sonny, but the child was strong and would not be easily untangled. Sonny reached out to take the boy from him, but he would not let go; his brother now encircling his waist – refusing to be parted from the man who saved their lives; his eyes still firmly shut.

"It's okay. It's okay." Clay soothed; and as the child relaxed in his arms, peered down into his eyes. "I promise you" he vowed with emphasis… "you will be safe here." Then pulling Kuya around to face him encouraged softly, "Open your eyes, we're here big brother."

"Now see?" he said to Sinto, "your brother is here with you. He won't leave you. Isn't that right? Brothers stick together" and then nodded with Kuya as the boy gifted the teddy bear to his little brother.

When he left the children safe with Sonny, he could hear his friend calling out, "Clay, where are you going?"

Moving away swiftly, he had no time to explain. He couldn't stay here. He just couldn't. There was a dazed man walking in circles waiting for him to return and lead him back. There were men, women and children who were injured, invisible beneath thick smoke…moaning, alone unable to move. He needed to get back to them, help them….he had promised.

And then, within the smoldering mist of flame, smoke and circling paper…a cell phone rang.

Inexplicably he left his feet and when he landed the sun was shining, the sky was clear and blue; the sand beneath him tickled his skin and momentous waves curled up to touch the clouds; and then hurtled down to wet his feet.

Sitting up slowly, he gazed out to witness the power of the ocean. Vague memories of instant, overwhelming terror melted away – leaving only peace.

He knew this place. This is where he was safe. Here, he needn't worry about insurgency, loss, grief or pain. Laying back he basked in the warmth of a summer heat; gripped the wet sand and smiled.

When he opened his eyes Brian leaned over him – blocking out the brightness of the rays. "Come on" he laughed; his voice competing with the roar of the ocean. "Let's go swim."

* * *

Thanks so much for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. This episode really caught me off guard, and I wasn't sure how to react.


	2. Chapter 2

Into This Wild Abyss

By: MusketeerAdventure

Chapter Two: Uncertainty hovering close, Jason exacts a promise from Clay.

* * *

"The mind is its own place and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." – John Milton

* * *

Bewildered, Clay ceased in his musings; gazed out over the vast ocean and then out to greet the sky.

Whereas moments ago this canvas beautifully yielded a bright sun alongside striking hues of azure blue, purplish reds and deep oranges – now there was a new, unwanted neighbor. This neighbor sat on the horizon as ominous dark clouds… peeking over the edge, scrutinizing the serene layout as if contemplating when to make its move in order to agitate and disrupt.

It seemed a storm was approaching; making its way from beyond the ocean. Peering around, he could not fathom it. The waves were calm, the sun still shown, and the breeze … gentle. White foam caressed the beach and slid like silk between his toes. How was it that a storm would gather here in his safe place?

Clay shivered and felt his knees go weak. An unexpected blow struck his body without warning and he gasped in pain; and then just as quickly the sensation was gone. Here again, was something new to consider; first bad weather and now pain.

Worriedly he surveyed the storm's progress in the hopes it would not come to shore.

Stepping back and away, Clay shielded his eyes against the contrasting glare of the sun and pondered the encroaching darkness. What was it doing out there? Why was it even here? Here was where he could rest. Here was where he thought of nothing but peace. Here was paradise.

Suddenly tired, he walked back toward the tree line; sat and leaned back into their comfort for shade and relief from the summer heat. It was cool here as the breeze drifted softly toward him. Taking in deep breaths, he could smell the salt, the sand, the earth, the vegetation and desired the competing scents to calm his nerves.

Frowning he wondered…if the storm materialized, traversed the ocean and met him here on the shore, where would he go to escape it? What did it mean that his safe place was under surveillance; due to be attacked?

Laughing aloud at his absurdity, Clay abandoned the thought. Nothing was coming for him… he wasn't under attack; it was only rain that wished to invade his territory. He would remain dry here beneath these limbs and leaves.

Feeling much better, now that he put such nonsense to rest, Clay felt his body relax and his lids grow heavy. Pushing uncertainty aside, he let the cool breeze; rustling leaves and the hypnotic music of slow, shifting waves lull him to sleep.

* * *

Jason gripped his hands and held on tight… knuckles white beneath the dust, dirt and drying blood.

He could feel them trembling so pressed them together even tighter. This feeling, this out of control feeling would get him nowhere. He hadn't felt this distressed; or this level of anguish since Alana's death; since his kids looked to him and wordlessly asked… what now. What do we do now?

Back then he was a drowning man – pulling his kids down with him, until finally without him even realizing it one day his nose inched above water and he could breathe again. It had taken months to get to that place. And here was that same sensation all over again – the riptide dragging him under.

Wiping his mouth he groaned; the pain so deep, so tangible it hurt.

If he didn't get himself together, he was going to lose it, right here in this ambulance; right here beside Clay who lay strapped to the gurney beside him…staring off into nothing. Where was he at this moment he wondered? Could he feel his injuries, was he in his safe place…protecting himself like they taught him in Green Team?

God he hoped so and yelled out, "Shit", causing the EMT seated across from him to startle and look worriedly in his direction. Holding his up his hands to reassure the man, he then covered his mouth to stifle any more unexpected outbursts.

What the hell, he thought; then reached out to hold Clay's hand. What the hell happened? Why was this even happening?

The kid did not respond, but his hand was warm. He took some comfort in that and sighed with relief. His hand was warm, his eyes were open, and he was breathing on his own. All of this was a good thing…right? This wasn't like Nate at all, who had gone so quickly there was no time to think… no time to say good-bye; no time to say I'm sorry.

As the ambulance moved carefully through the panicked streets, Jason pushed the past away and wished they could move faster. Through the front window he could see that the roads were full of stricken pedestrians, some injured; either attempting to find their way to help or moving toward the bomb site in search of friends and family.

Holding onto Clay's hand he thought he heard the kid groan and peered down to study him closely. "He must be in pain", he said to the EMT. "Can you give him something for the pain?"

Barely avoiding a collision on the street, the ambulance came to an abrupt stop, jostling the occupants; rocking them one way and then another. This time he did hear it – Clay moaning; tears erupting as his eyes squeezed shut…jaw clenched tight. Suddenly Clay purposely grabbed a hold of his hand; his grip fierce and painful.

Jason bit his lip and leaned over to speak in Clay's ear. "I'm here" he assured, "I'm here."

Turning away from Clay he ordered, "Give him something for the pain", expecting immediate obedience from a man not under his command.

Hesitating minutely, the EMT reached for his equipment. "Let me get his vitals", he countered; working quickly to listen to lungs; get a blood pressure and check pupil reactions.

Letting go of Clay's hand, Jason abandoned patience and reached over grabbing hold of the responder's shirt, then pulled him in close...where they met face to face. "Give him something now" he repeated, voice hard; his heart pounding in fear; his breathing labored as if he had just run a mile.

The EMT swiftly extricated himself and moved as quickly as he was able under Jason's intense scrutiny. "Yes sir" he managed to get out, "now that he seems responsive and his breathing uncompromised I can do just that."

And within moments; injection given…Jason reclaimed Clay's hand and held on as the kid began to visibly relax. Unexpectedly their eyes locked and Jason could see there was understanding there. Clay did see him; he knew who he was right at this moment; so he began to speak, knowing that his window of opportunity was short. "You're going to be okay. I'm right here. We're headed for the hospital. Everything's going to be fine."

Clay nodded, and Jason could since the all-consuming fear emanating from his eyes. Leaning down closer, Jason pressed the kid's shoulder gently and attempted a reassuring smile.

"You know that place?" Jason asked. "That place you go to when you're in trouble; that safe place?"

Clay nodded again. "I want you to go back there, go back there and stay. You stay there and you wait. You wait for my all clear."

As the ambulance continued its journey, Jason's voice demanded. "Do you understand me Clay? Squeeze my hand if you understand what I'm saying to you."

Feeling the weak pressure around his fingers, Jason sighed deeply overcome with pride in his boy's will to fight. "Okay" he whispered, "Okay then, you go ahead; go now and wait."

Leaning over, Jason watched as Clay took him at his word; eyes closing incrementally bit by bit…heavy with exhaustion. Rhythmically, Jason stroked his hair, and spoke words with no real meaning – other than to bring comfort until the kid was breathing in and out, in and out …slow and steady.

* * *

Waking from a dream he did not remember, Clay inspected the sky and looked to the horizon. Dark clouds held steady out over the ocean, but it no longer worried him.

Standing, he stretched his arms over his head and then made his way down to the shore.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. I have attempted a second chapter and hope you enjoy it. I am looking forward to the next episode.


	3. Chapter 3

Into This Wild Abyss

By: MusketeerAdventure

Chapter Three: Unable to wait any longer for the "all clear", Clay meets Swanny halfway between here and there. *Warning* of dark thoughts.

* * *

"Solitude sometimes is best society and short retirement urges sweet return." – John Milton

* * *

Black clouds passed overhead; blotted out the sun and without time to react… the storm erupted.

Rain fell as if being poured from a pitcher – hard and fast; so he took off running for the tree line; hoping to hunker down and wait for it to pass.

Shivering beneath limbs and leaves heavy with water, Clay swiped the wetness from his face, and then ran trembling hands through his hair. He was so cold that a torrent of fine goose bumps sprouted across his skin; and so soaked that his clothes were like a second skin.

Crossing his arms around his torso, he hugged himself to generate some warmth. When that didn't work, he sat down among the thick winding roots of a great tree; squeezed in on himself and embraced his knees.

Considering the swiftness of the change in weather conditions, Clay laid his head down on his knees and wondered how long this storm would last. For some time he had suspiciously watched the darkness hover over the horizon, and to his relief it had remained at bay – teasing him day after day. So much so that he had gotten used to it lying in wait.

Eventually he thought the storm would pass him by and leave him to his relative solitude. Groaning as the chill of rain trickling down his back, he could see now that this was not the case. Bad luck had finally come to meet him. He had been fooled – lulled into a false sense of security.

Thunder joined the ranks, and rumbled loudly around him. He could feel the earth tremble, as gusts of wind swelled from a brisk breeze to an all-out tempest… all in a matter of second; lifting his hair to whip around his face and sting his cheeks. Lightning struck close by; so he stood ready to run deeper into the trees and find some sort of shelter.

As he took off running, incredibly tree after tree fell one by one in his wake…as if chasing him down; pushing him further and further away from the beach. Racing full steam ahead, fighting as best he could against the force of the gale, he knew instinctively that he could not out run them. Then as suddenly as it all began, the trees ceased to fall and the sounds of upturned earth; breaking limbs and howling wind quieted.

A hush descended and there was no sound.

Though he breathed hard; could feel his heart pounding in his chest; could see the trees bend… he could hear nothing. Not even the wind – though the evidence of its presence was visible.

Confused he stopped running; looked back and found his gaze fixated on the ocean; and the frightening might of Mother Nature. Apprehensive, he pushed his hair back from his face and watched in awe the ocean recede – sucking in the white foam, the air, and the sand – leaving the beach barren; her rocks, sea shells, seaweed forced up and out as if through a vacuum into her tidal wave.

Clay knew what this meant. If he didn't get the hell out of its path; the strength of her tsunami, once released, would catch up with him, and he would surely drown.

Turning away from her brutal intent; he hopped over fallen debris; dodged limbs that fell from the sky and targeted him like heat seeking missiles; then cut his skin. The rain was relentless and soon he could not see which way to go. Mud grabbed hold of his ankles, preventing him from lifting his feet. The strength in his legs waned, and then it happened.

Screaming in fear, throwing up his arms to protect his face – Clay felt the weight of a great tree across his legs before it even registered in his mind that it had fallen. The pain was unbearable and tore through him like talons.

Thunder shook the ground, and lightening jabbed indiscriminately around him. He could not move, he could not breathe. His legs were on fire. Why had paradise turned against him?

Screaming in pain, he could barely hear Brian yelling over the cacophony of noise…his efforts to lift the fallen tree futile. "You have to go", he yelled down into his face. "You can't stay here. You have to go."

Clay shook his head and felt the mud caress his scalp. He couldn't leave. He was to stay. He was to wait. Wait for the all clear. Wasn't that the agreement?

"If you stay – you're going to die." Brian whispered sitting now by his side; rain flattening his hair; plastering it to the sides of his face. Clay shut his eyes and turned away – refusing to listen… sharp pangs of agony crawling up his legs, making it hard to think.

"I love you man" Brian choked out, "but you need to leave."

As waves of torture cascaded through his body, Clay asked sorrowfully through clenched teeth, "Is it all clear then? Is it safe to go?"

* * *

The smoke detector blaring over his head woke him up.

Startled, Swanny picked up the pan of burnt eggs and threw it in the sink. Shaking, he leaned over and coughed up the tickle of smoke at the back of his throat.

"What the hell", he complained and rushed to open the window and let some fresh air in. Heart drumming erratically he slid to the floor as the smells and sounds of a recent fire fight receded. Covering his ears, he waited – waited for the echoes of battle surrounding him to abate.

After a few moments, the barrage of artillery stopped and he stood on unsteady ground, to confront the mess in Clay's kitchen. "Shit", he cursed under his breath and reached for the small step stool.

Once the smoke detector stopped yelling at him, he got to work and cleaned the kitchen to near perfection. It was spotless; the floor shined; and Mr. Clean permeated the air. With hands on hips, he surveyed every corner. No one would ever know that he almost burned the place down.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, he anxiously pulled out his pack of sticky notes and began to write.

Stay focused.

Put the stove fan on.

Keep the burner low.

No more fried eggs.

Finished with his new list of reminders, he stood and placed each note on the counter, where he'd be sure to see them. So he wouldn't forget.

Staring around the apartment, Swanny knew his state of mind was getting worse. All he need do was to see the small brightly colored bits of paper lining every open space available. They decorated the television, the walls; cabinets, the mirror in the bathroom, the front door. It was a rainbow of his distress.

What started out as a coping mechanism had turned into an overpowering obsession. Rubbing the tension from his neck, he sat down on the sofa… weary to the bone.

Leaning his head back, Swanny wondered how much longer he could keep this up. His memory was shot to hell; searching for a job had become a joke. Just to drag himself from bed took so much effort – to leave the apartment … it was like climbing a mountain. He had stopped returning his sisters' calls some time ago and the support group… abandoned long before that.

His old lady had given him the boot – no longer able to live with his quirks or mood swings; sleep was hit or miss; taking his medications on time was sporadic. Staring at the plethora of prescriptions laid out before him, all in in a neat row only added to just how tired he was. What did any of this matter?

None of these pills seemed to do a damn thing. They didn't take away his dreams of dodging bullets; of artillery screeching toward him; of dirt and blood beneath his nails… of good friends lost. They didn't suppress his need to pace, his heart to race for no reason, for heat to well up in his body and produce a sweat so profuse he felt wet and sticky every hour of every day.

Nothing seemed to help. Nobody could help him. Picking up one of the bottles he studied it closely. What if, he thought? What if… and before he could finish the thought; before some idea that included defeat took hold, the phone rang; and he decide to pick it up.

And on the other end was Jason; his voice strained and agitated… words tumbling over words; telling him about Clay. Concentrating; trying to sift through the man's fear … his own doubts took a back seat and suddenly he was himself, ready to help; to be on point; ready to be there for the team and for Clay. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the veil of fog lifted from his brain. He was on a mission.

"Would you go and meet him Swanny?" Jason begged. "Would you keep an eye on him, tell him we're going to make this right – I'm going to make this right. Can you do this?"

Standing quickly to his feet Swanny reached for his jacket, the keys to the car – on the move to meet Clay at the base hospital. "Copy that Boss", he barked out with purpose. "I'm on my now"; and closed the door behind him.

* * *

"Is it all clear?"

Brian frowned and when his pain ratcheted to intolerable heights Clay sat up and screamed. Monitors blared, urgent voices talked around him; people scurried from place to place; the bed shook beneath him. What was happening?

Hands pressed down on his shoulders, and a voice he did not know called out over the confusion, "Hello Mr. Spenser. Welcome back", then called over his shoulder, to administer directions to fast moving hospital staff.

But Clay was wary. Where was he exactly? Where was Jason? Where was the all clear? This must be some sort of trick; a trick to get him here where it wasn't safe. He needed to leave here and get back to where it was safe and wait.

Scanning the room; and gauging the doctors and nurses, Clay fought with what little strength he could muster. However, the hands pulling him down were too strong for him; and the warm effects of morphine made his stomach flutter; his limbs heavy and the pain disperse bit by bit.

Above the chaos he heard a familiar voice… Swanny close to his ear, "It's okay Clay. You're in the hospital."

Hospital? Clay questioned…why was he in the hospital? Why did he hurt so bad, where was Boss?

Swanny continued softly, "Let's settle down okay? Let the doctor look you over. I'm right here and won't leave you."

As the room took on a fuzzy, sort of hazy glow; Clay took stock of his situation. Yes, he was in the hospital. Vague memories of an explosion descended heavily; being on the beach with Brian… Boss telling him to wait.

Fear receding, Clay sought out the veteran and locked eyes with the man standing above him; a crooked smile on his face – his hand warm and reassuring placed over his heart. He sounded sincere, he was solid, he was a friend… so he relaxed and asked earnestly; his throat raw; and voice cracking, Where's Boss? Is it all clear?"

Brow creased, Swanny didn't look so sure, but he nodded anyway and pressed Clay's shoulder with what he hoped was comfort. "You rest", he answered. "I'm right here."

Giving way to trust, Clay let go of his surroundings and surrendered to the warm embrace of sleep.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. Also, I would like to take a moment to say thank you to those guest reviewers who left such kind reviews for chapters one and two.


	4. Chapter 4

Into This Wild Abyss

By: MusketeerAdventure

Chapter Four: Recovery seems daunting; but Clay finds brotherhood outside his circle of Bravo.

* * *

"Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light." – John Milton

* * *

As he approached the door and saw that Mr. Swann was there to greet him, Lucas knew something was wrong.

Trying to quickly ascertain what this might be about, he scanned his memory and knew that today was the day therapy sessions with Clay Spenser would leave this room and find a new home down in the P.T. department.

Things were moving along nicely… but he had to admit, that for most, the first day out of the hospital room was the hardest. It brought up a lot of anxiety; however he was ready for the challenge.

As he got closer, Lucas studied Mr. Swann carefully and when they shook hands in greeting could feel the slight tremors radiating off him; noticed the bags under his eyes – his face wan from lack of sleep. Nodding with understanding he let go and squeezed his shoulder with reassurance.

This man was a bottomless well of encouragement and to see him handwringing with a worrisome look on his face sent immediate warning bells resonating in his ears. So he decided to play it cool and be as calm and positive as possible.

This early in therapy, it was not unusual for family members to be stressed out. Watching a loved one fight for his life and dignity was difficult. And though Mr. Swann was not technically family – his diligence and loyalty met the criteria in his book.

Spenser was a lucky man. Not many friends, in his experience, would be here day in and day out to help provide the needed push or boost of support when going through the many ups and downs of physical therapy. In this particular case, P.T. was going to be a tough journey to be sure, and a long one at that. Hard work and patience was the key; and Swanny was proving to be that much needed well of reserve.

"Rough morning?" he asked and watched with concern as Mr. Swann massaged his temples with earnest intent.

"We got him dressed", he answered, "but he has made it very clear that he's not leaving this room today."

Lucas nodded and remembered Clay's heightened anxiety level the day before when he announced a new change of venue. It was time to get this patient on his feet.

"I can't seem to get through to him that this is a good thing; that it means progress."

Lucas thought about this turn of events. Clay Spenser was a stubborn guy. He sort of knew this day was coming and felt prepared to manage this situation. Reaching for the door handle he replied, "Let me see to this Mr. Swann. You go, get yourself some coffee and relax for a bit."

When it looked like the man would protest, Lucas continued with a bit more assertion. "Go on. I've got this. There's no need to worry."

And as Mr. Swann anxiously made his way down the corridor, Lucas opened the door and let himself in.

* * *

When he heard the door opening, Clay sat up straighter… preparing himself to go round two with Swanny.

This time he wouldn't yell or throw the bed pan. That hadn't gone over so well, and he felt sorry for how that went down. Swanny had been here for him since those very first hours of lucidity. He didn't deserve his foul mood and abuses.

This time he would apologize straight off; be calm and give a reasonable response to his yammering on about how much progress he was making; how in just a few weeks after surgery, he was about to get up on his feet.

Clay wiggled his toes and winced; rubbed his thigh and gasped; bent his knees and groaned. Balling his hands into fists he sighed with exasperation. He didn't feel ready to get out of this bed; to stand or for that matter see anyone outside of this room.

Everything hurt so badly. The medication seemed only to take the edge off of his pain. It was always there, waiting just beneath the surface... an ache so deep he couldn't reach down far enough in order to massage the discomfort away. Every which way he moved took extreme effort and he was tired.

Disappointed in himself he knew why he wasn't ready. It was because he was afraid; afraid to fail. Afraid he would fall and not be able to get back up. Afraid that his life was over, that his dreams were shattered; his independence lost.

He had always prided himself on striving to be the best at everything… at out working everyone around him. It was who he was….and now? Who was he really?

What frightened him most was that he would have to change course and do…what; be … what?

Closing his eyes he could only picture himself as a SEAL; a tier one operator; a member of Bravo. Beyond that was … nothing.

When he opened his eyes, instead of Swanny standing at the foot of his bed there stood Lucas Nance, his physical therapist, with that ever present look of patience on his face. Giving him the eye, Clay knew better. The man's friendly exterior hid his relentless pursuit of his goals for him: to be on his feet; walking and independent. Those were his goals too, but right now, he just didn't have it in him.

Clay frowned; scooted his way down the bed; then flopped on his side – essentially turning his back on the man.

"Well" Lucas chuckled, "I see you've mastered that move quite well. Now you just need to swing those legs over the side; and I'll help you into the chair."

Clapping his hands in cheerleader like fashion, he continued in that irritatingly robust way, "Today is the day man. Let's get ready to rumble."

Clay clenched his teeth and felt a headache encroaching at the base of his skull. Lucas was just too upbeat; too optimistic; too dedicated. Squeezing his eyes shut, he attempted to tune the man out – fold in on himself; leave here… go back to where…

But he couldn't go back could he? He'd had to leave his safe place before the all clear was given. He had been thrown out… abandoned. Waking up to find himself here…here…here.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he found Lucas standing over him; smiling – his eyes warm and understanding.

"Would you stop being nice to me" he exclaimed, and hoped that his well-practiced, steely glare – the one that sent Swanny out the door would work its magic now.

But instead Lucas actually laughed, and sat heavily in the wheelchair next to his bed. "That's not going to work on me Spenser", Lucas pronounced, his voice filled with good humor. "Nothing you throw at me" he paused, pointing to the bed pan leaning against the far wall, "is going to make me leave this room without you today."

Clay opened his mouth to counter act the man, to say … leave me alone; I'm too tired; the pain is too much; I might fail – but could not; as Lucas interrupted his tirade before he could even get started; unwilling to hear his excuses. "I won't hear any of it Clay" he began. "You have your life and limbs; you have your right mind; you have support… and by the way Mr. Swann is a saint; and you have me – the best damn physical therapist in this hospital."

Finished with his speech, Clay watched as Lucas stood, pulled the wheelchair close to the bed and locked it down. Then said with authority, "I believe in you man."

"Now it's time to sit up."

Studying Lucas and sensing his unyielding resolve, Clay thought of Swanny who put so much faith in his recovery; of Sonny who survived the tube and never complained; of Boss who made the hard decisions and never looked back, of Bravo – his brothers, who blew up his phone every day sending messages to try and cheer him up. Surprisingly he thought of his father, whose number he blocked on his phone months ago. Who if he knew about this would probably chew him out for being such a spineless wuss.

Lowering his head to think more on this Brian came to mind, then Adam – Echo Team and countless other men and women who gave the ultimate sacrifice. What would they think of this meltdown of his? Lucas was right. He could do this. Failure was not an option; so with some effort he sat up.

Nodding, Lucas continued, "Remember how we do this; bring those legs around and sit on the side of the bed." Making his move, pain raced up his legs and pierced his thigh; but he remembered his exercises; remembered to breathe and so swung them around one leg at a time, placing his feet on the floor.

Lucas grinned and reached out his arms, "Grab hold of my shoulders", he instructed. "That's right", and bent down to embrace him… arms locked about his waist. "Now stand with me on three", he whispered in his ear, "One… two… three."

In sync Clay held on tight; leaned his weight in and felt Lucas' strength.

Legs buckling, fear bubbled up from his stomach and sweat popped out on his brow. He was going to fall. What had he been thinking? He couldn't do this. But instead of hitting the floor, Lucas held him up beneath his arms; pressed his knees with his own to shore him up and would not let go.

"I'm not going to let you fall sailor", he announced with certainty and then swung him into the waiting chair with little effort.

Unlocking the chair; placing each foot in a foot rest, Lucas bent down into his personal space. "Just trust me Clay" he said with confidence.

Clay nodded warily; pressed his lips together in determination and swiped sweat from his forehead.

Day one… he told himself… this is day one; and when they left the room, there was Swanny waiting – hands pushed down deep in his pockets; his expression relieved.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Thanks to everyone for such a wonderful response to this!


	5. Chapter 5

Into This Wild Abyss

By: MusketeerAdventure

Chapter Five: For Swanny, today was a good day. For Clay, it could have been worse.

* * *

"Awake, arise or be for ever fall'n." John Milton

* * *

His legs gave way, and that was it. He was down for the count. Try as he might, getting up from the floor was going to be a problem.

Clay stared up at the ceiling and sighed; agitated at his fragility… fed up with his body. Was he fucked or what? Taking another stab at it, he tried to move his legs – nothing doing. He had been here on the floor for a few minutes now, hoping that some sensation would return soon. Sometimes it worked like that. Feeling would return within moments … or not.

Concentrating – he balled up his fist and struck his thigh with as much force as he could muster … nothing.

Roughly rubbing his eyes, he let out a frustrated yell and banged on the floor beneath him. What the hell … what the hell … what the hell. Maybe a neighbor would hear him in here wailing away on the floor in a fit of rage. Energy depleted, he gave up. No one came running.

Reaching for his front pocket, Clay hesitated and smacked the floor one more time with emphasis. "Shit", he yelled out, and squeezed his eyes shut. With his cell phone in the bed room, he had no way of calling Swanny to say he needed help. That once again, his legs had given way without warning.

Only this time, he had stubbornly left the walker where he had conveniently stored it … in the closet; leaving him stuck here between his room and the kitchen.

Grabbing the sides of his head, Clay guessed he should feel lucky. What if this had happened while in the shower; or while he was cooking; or on a patrol; or upon touching the ground after parachuting or in pursuit of combatants or…..

The list could go on forever.

"Stop" he admonished aloud, "just stop"; and grabbed a hold of the front of shirt to pull it away from his body. He needed to get some air flowing – as a flash of heat welled up from his belly and flushed his cheeks. Over his whirling thoughts, he could hear Swanny giving one of his many unsolicited speeches to: settle down; take a deep breath …ask yourself what is it you need to do in order to get out of this situation. Who can you ask for help?

Clay couldn't help but to admire the man. His advice always seemed to be just like his notes scrawled on bits of paper – brief, to the point; and extremely helpful.

So he lay perfectly still; took deep breaths; and waited for his heart beat to subside to a steady rhythm; and for the heat of panic to die down.

Channeling Swanny he asked himself, "What do you need to do Sunshine?"

Turning on his side, he surveyed his surroundings. Answering his own question he supposed, "You need to get up from the floor dumbass."

Attempting to wiggle his toes Clay groaned. His legs were still unresponsive; and even if he got to his knees there was nothing close by to help him pull himself up. Flopping on his back, he thought maybe he could arm craw his way back to the bed room and search out his phone.

At the moment though – the journey from here to there seemed overwhelming and he was so incredibly tired.

Maybe if he lay here, he could wait out the numbness – wait for that tingling sensation; and then burst of pain that signaled the episode was over. Swanny was out meeting his psychologist this morning. He should be back soon. He could wait here for help… wait here for Swanny.

Suddenly this all seemed hilarious and Clay began to snicker; then chuckle; then graduated to full on laughter…laughing so hard, tears came to his eyes; and he had to admit.

This could be so much worse. He could have to pee.

* * *

Swanny sat outside the VA's Naval Mental Health outreach center and took another sip of his coffee.

Today was a good day. The weather was nice…comfortable, in a not too chilly sort of way. His thoughts weren't all tangled together; and Clay was moving along nicely toward independence. It felt good to feel good.

He had told Clay that this was where he would be for the next few hours; so here he was. A promise kept. One he had been avoiding for some time.

When he got back, Clay would be glad to hear that today, he actually entered the building; waited for his number to be called; and took part in sharing about his struggles. Yes, today was a good day. Tomorrow, he wasn't so sure… but today? Noticing the sun; enjoying this fancy coffee… why not feel optimistic?

Pulling out his cell phone, Swanny took note of the app reminding him to take his medication and that this afternoon was Clay's first outpatient PT session.

The miracle of technology he snorted; reaching in his back pack for his meds; then swilling it down with the last of his coffee. Inwardly, he smiled – recalling the moment Clay took him aside and explained how his sticky note method was a thing of the past; then breezed through countless apps on his phone that he could use and help remind him of things like his meds; appointments or just random thoughts he wanted to remember later.

What a gift, he thought at the time; and remembered how relieved he felt. That an app was made because there were hundreds of thousands of people all over the world who were just like him. Who lost track of important things; who lost track of their memories; who were losing track of their lives. He wasn't alone.

Checking the time, he saw that he had some time yet to get back to the apartment and pick up Clay; so tilting his head back, he decided to take in the sunshine – let the warmth reduce his tensions; enjoy the hustle and bustle of life surrounding him. Why not, he thought …why not?

Besides, he didn't know when he would feel this good again. Didn't know how long this sense of clarity would last. He wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring.

Hesitating for the briefest of moments, Swanny unlocked his phone again and scrolled down his list of contacts. He saw that Jeanie – his sister had called quite a lot … at least once a day over the past few weeks. He had been reluctant to return her calls. There was nothing to say; nothing that he could relate to in her life – or she in his. Why put them both through it?

But today was a good day. Finger hovering over the call button, he decided to go ahead and take the plunge. She picked up on ring one. "Hey" was all he had to say, as from then on Jeanie screamed, cried and never let him get another word in edgewise.

* * *

Entering the apartment Swanny's first reaction to Clay on the floor; not moving was confusion – and then, closely thereafter was that the kid was dead. Instinctively his training kicked in and he raced to the kid's side.

Straightaway he noticed the rise of fall of Clay's chest and reached for his neck to feel for a pulse. Releasing a breath, he was pleased to note that it was steady and strong. Leaning over he checked for signs of injury – running hands over his arms, legs, ribs – the back of his head; checking his pupils.

Everything seemed to check out okay.

Falling back on his heels, Swanny cursed and looked to the heavens for salvation; and swiped shaking hands over his face. Clay was asleep… fast asleep; here on the floor.

Dammit, he was going to kill this kid with his bare hands. Roughly he shook Clay's shoulder until he opened his eyes, then with understanding sheepishly turned away.

He couldn't help it… he had to know. "What are you doing on the floor Clay?"

"Well" Clay coughed, attempting to clear his throat, "I fell right here in this spot and couldn't get up?"

Tilting his head Swanny pressed, "Are you asking me, or is that what happened?"

Feeling the tension, Clay answered swiftly, "That's what happened."

Nodding; feeling a bit more sympathetic, Swanny continued, "Why didn't you call me?" Then searching the floor for the cell phone asked, "Where's your phone Clay?" … and then accusatorily "Where's the walker?"

Pushing himself up on elbows Clay searched the ceiling looking for answers, "My phone's in the room, and the walker….?

"Yes the walker?" was the comeback.

"In the closet?"

Swanny pinched the bridge of his nose, "Are you asking me or…?"

"No, no … it's in the closet."

Swanny stood and without another word stalked to the bedroom to retrieve the phone and when he reached for the closet door; made himself stop and consider his next move. What was he going to do?

Other than himself; this kid was the most stubborn person he knew. How did Jason put up with it? What was his secret?

It wouldn't do to get riled up. Clay didn't respond well to being riled up; he had learned that the hard way. Counting to twenty; Swanny attempted to block out the site of the kid laid out on the floor. What if he hadn't come home; what if the kid had hurt himself … hit his head or broken something in the fall?

Swanny lowered his head and thought on what he should do or what to say that would get through that thick skull. There was more to independence than just being able to master activities of daily living. Good Lord he struggled that way himself… he knew, he understood. He understood that the mind was willing but sometimes the body wasn't able.

Mind made up, Swanny reached in for the walker.

* * *

Clay could literally feel the fear and anger rolling off Swanny as he abruptly left the room. This was just what he didn't want to happen. When Swanny left this morning, he was in such a good mood – today had been a shift for him. For some reason, a fog had been lifted. He was so glad to see it. But now….

Falling back to the floor he covered his eyes. He had known better. Knew he should always have the phone on him; and to have the walker in reach. Hadn't Lucas hammered in the safety aspects of being home? But he just didn't want to do it. Just didn't want to take the safe route; to be careful. He didn't understand himself.

When Swanny entered the room with his phone and walker the man seemed in a better disposition. "Let me help you up" he said, and moved in from behind to catch him under his arm pits and heft him to his feet – the walker waiting for him to lean on.

Prickly pens and needles assailed his limbs along with that sudden sharp pain. His senses were back with a vengeance; and so slowly headed back to his room to sit on the bed – Swanny following close behind.

Once seated, he turned to his friend, anxious of what was next; so decided to jump in first. "Look Swanny, I'm sorry", he began. "I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't mean to ruin your day."

Swanny sat next to him and nodded. "You did scare me jackass. I thought you were dead. I thought… this is it. What am I going to tell Jason or Sonny – who would probably kill me; and the rest of Bravo?"

Clay nodded in agreement. "What can I do man", he practically pleaded, "What can I do to make it up to you. I'll keep my phone on me from now on. I'll be sure to have the walker close by. I'll…"

"Yeah maybe" Swanny interrupted. "Maybe there is something you can do … to make up for scaring the shit out of me."

"Anything man – anything", Clay conceded.

Suddenly Swanny commented, "You know, today I talked to my sister."

A bit confused by the abrupt change of subject, Clay raised an eyebrow; not sure where this was going.

"It was good to hear her voice. She had been trying to call me for a while now. And you know… today was such a good day to reciprocate and make that call; to let her know I was okay; that I loved her and thought about her every day."

Understanding began to dawn on him, and Clay shook his head. "I'm glad you called your sister Swanny. I'm sure she was happy to hear from you. But if you're saying what I think you're saying; if I called the guys – I wouldn't know what to say."

Pausing in thought Clay considered how to form his feelings into words. "I'm not a part of them now. They don't need me clinging to them. I need to stand on my own. I'm not their brother anymore."

Swanny's heart clenched in his chest. He could hear between the lines and understood the fear of rejection. That the people he knew and loved wouldn't understand him anymore – that somehow he was different. But Clay needed to reach out; find common ground with the men who loved him.

Clay needed his family; needed more than just him to be there when he fell; because one day he wouldn't be there and then what?

"You said, you'd do anything", Swanny reminded him and stood to retrieve the tablet. Holding it out, Clay reluctantly reached for it and sighed. Swanny knew the kid would not go back on his word. "The team has been calling and leaving messages for weeks now."

"What do I say", Clay asked; uncertain if this was such a good idea. It had been over six weeks. Common sense told him that they had moved on.

Recalling his own conversation earlier with his sister, Swanny smiled. "All you have to do is say hello. They'll take it from there. You'll see; you won't have to say much of anything."

Nodding, Clay opened Skype and waited.

When Swanny left the room; he shut the door softly behind him and could hear Bravo's raucous greeting and laughed softly. Today was a good day.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading. Please leave a message to let me know what you think. This will be the last chapter to 'Into This Wild Abyss'. Last night's episode broke my heart.


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